Free
by Eugene O Neill
Weary am I of the tumult, sick of the staring crowd,
Pining for wild sea places where the soul may think
aloud.
Fled is the glamour of cities, dead as the ghost of
a dream,
While I pine anew for the tint of blue on the breast
of the old Gulf Stream.
I have had my dance with Folly, nor do I shirk the
blame;
I have sipped the so-called Wine of Life and paid
the price of shame;
But I know that I shall find surcease, the rest my
spirit craves,
Where the rainbows play in the flying spray,
'Mid the keen salt kiss of the waves.
Then it's ho! for the plunging deck of a bark, the
hoarse song of the crew,
With never a thought of those we left or what we are
going to do;
Nor heed the old ship's burning, but break the
shackles of care
And at last be free, on the open sea, with the trade
wind in our hair.
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